


Press 'Continue' With Me

by demiguise



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: BIG VOLLEYBALL SPOILERS HERE YOU'VE BEEN WARNED, Boys In Love, Confessions, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Getting Together, M/M, Soft Boys, Spoilers, aftermath of ch 325, but like very small amount of hurt, kenma is savage, kuroo is an emotional dork, short and sweet, spoilers for ch 325
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-17 02:00:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16507190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/demiguise/pseuds/demiguise
Summary: The aftermath of the battle at the trash heap brings more pleasant realizations for Kuroo and Kenma.----I'm even making sure the summary doesn't have spoilers-- but what it says on the tin, spoilers for ch. 325.





	Press 'Continue' With Me

**Author's Note:**

> AHHHHHHH.  
> I'm in a glass case of emotions and this one-shot is my coping mechanism.

Kuroo cries.

Of course he cries. He never doubted that the tears would come. It was not a matter of what if but when. Part of him curses Kai for breaking the dam so easily— so effortlessly, but the moment he sees Yaku’s lip quivering he knows they are done for. So they cry. They cry out the burn of their muscles, cramping and aching after such a brutal set. They cry out the frustration that their momentum ends here. They cry out of pride mixed with amazement at losing to such a formidable opponent ( _“Your baby crows can fly now, huh”_ he breathes into Sawamura's ear as they hug). They cry because Nekoma will carry on but leave them third years behind as they step onto different courts under different teams. They cry because it’s over, and what a beautiful ending that was. They cry out of relief, out of nostalgia. They cry.

He wasn’t expecting Kenma to cry.

Kenma. His best friend has been nothing but surprises this entire match— and Kuroo, well, Kuroo couldn’t be more grateful and prouder. Grateful that he gets to see this version of Kenma (this new, leveled up, volleyball-thirsty Kenma) while they play on the same side and for the same team. But the ball must drop at some point— it’s an agonizing truth faced by all those who love the game— and Kenma also tasted that realization today.

Nekomata sends them off to the changing rooms with a warm smile and a glint of overwhelming joy in his eyes. And Kuroo is humbled. Humbled that the old man gets to live his dream while Kuroo is captain, while Kuroo leads his team, while Kuroo stands on this court for Nekomata’s team and no one else’s. This was _Kuroo’s_ battle at the trash heap.

Chests still heaving and sweat still dripping, Kuroo leaves the court with his head held up high, his legs still working because his entire team is also still standing, still walking proud. The blood circulates. The body moves.

“Ahhhh, I’m beat!” He sniffs out as his body hits the cold metal of the changing room benches. A towel hits his wet neck with a ‘ _plop_ ’.

“Go shower, don’t be gross.” Is Yaku’s tired reprimand as he drags himself to the showers, an overexcited Lev jumping ( _WHERE does he find the energy to still jump?!_ Kuroo wonders in amused alarm) after him, already asking for advice on how to improve as a player, as a teammate.

He feels more than sees the numerous pats and “good work”s and “thank you, captain”s as the rest of the team heads to the multiple showers— the luxury of gigantic gyms like this one is that rarely does a team have to line up to shower, so unlike their cramped space in the club room back in Nekoma High.

A small creak alerts him to the fact that someone is sitting beside him— that and the overwhelming radiation of body heat.

“Go shower, don’t be gross.” Kuroo echoes Yaku.

“Don’t tell me what to do when you’re being gross too.” Is Kenma’s grunt of a response.

Kuroo turns to face his teammate, his school mate, his best friend. Kenma’s face is shining with sweat as big drops hit his jersey, the bright red turning darker with each new dollop. His uniform is sticking to his entire body, and Kuroo could swear he can almost see Kenma’s rapid heartbeat.

“So, that was fun, huh?” Kuroo grins.

Kenma huffs, but there’s an obvious smile on his face— Volleyball has done this, the Shrimpy has done this—

_Kuro, thank you for getting me into volleyball._

Kuroo has done this.

“Does this mean you’ll no longer complain about getting up early to practice?” Kuroo continues his good-intentioned teasing by leaning against the half-blonde, their shoulders practically glueing together the moment their shirts make contact.

“Never.” Kenma grunts.

Kuroo laughs, a laugh that is swallowed by the chatter and running water coming from the showers, with the occasional yelp clearly coming from Lev, who is probably trying to invade Yaku’s stall as he continues doing a replay of the match.

“Fair. You might give everyone else a fright if you suddenly turn into this super intense volleyball player. Haah, I can already picture it— you demanding more weekend practices, you forcing Lev to stay behind and take more tosses— well, I don’t think anyone could force Lev to practice, that fool has way too much energy stored in him. You’re going to have to tell me all about it— all about next year and all those new matches you’ll have—”

Kenma has grown quiet. And you’d have to be Kuroo or anyone from the Nekoma volleyball team to understand what it means for Kenma to go quiet. Because Kenma is always quiet, and his body language is mostly closed off to those around him. But _this_ quiet— this is a different quiet. The way Kenma has crouched into his stomach almost to be swallowed by himself, the way his face is scrunched up not in disdain for what’s happening around him but almost to contain the emotions happening _inside_ him, the way he grips the hem of his shorts.

“Hey—” Kuroo begins, softly, giving Kenma the opportunity to explain without scaring him.

“I’m sorry.” It’s so softly spoken that Kuroo would’ve surely missed it were he not sitting so closely to the smaller boy.

“W-what? For what, you idiot?” Kuroo presses himself against Kenma even more, his arm snaking itself around the quiet boy. Kuroo can’t help it, where Kenma is inquisitive through observation, Kuroo deducts and reads through touch— and the gentle touches and presses between him and Kenma have been honed for years, allowing him to read him and feel him and understand him in ways he knows Kenma is grateful for, because it erases complicated dialogues.

“Hey, if this is about us losing, don’t worry about it, okay? That was frankly the best match I’ve ever played and it was all thanks to yo—”

“I was too late!” Kenma snaps, and Kuroo jumps slightly, though his grip around the other boy doesn’t loosen. Kenma turns to look at him, though careful to ensure they are still in their makeshift embrace, and there’s more than sweat dripping down his face now.

Tears. Kenma’s tears.

Kenma is crying.

“I was too late! I’m sorry I wasted all of these years for you, Kuro, I’m sorry I complained so much! I’m sorry….I’m sorry I said I was going to quit all of those times. I was too late...because…” Kenma heaves, losing air for his words. Kuroo remains quiet, drawing small circles on his back, giving him time for the words to return.

“...because I loved it, Kuroo. I loved the match. I loved the ache in my body. I loved Karasuno’s perseverance. I loved our drive. I loved how I knew there would be a game over. But most of all, I loved being there with you.” Kenma hiccups, “I loved it, Kuroo.”

“You—” It is Kuroo who hiccups now, his face red with contained tears, with awe, with turmoil, with love for Kenma. His team mate, his best friend, his—

“You can’t just sprout out things like that in the middle of the locker room, geesh!” And Kuroo hides his face in his free arm, because he is positive that he is redder than their uniform right now.

“Is this the new you now, huh?!” His words are muffled but heavy with embarrassment, “Shouting in the middle of matches, and then giving emotional speeches in the locker room?! Because I love it— I love it, Kenma.”

_I love it because it’s you._

He feels a warm, calloused hand remove his arm from his face, and he suddenly comes face to face with bright, golden eyes.

“We could’ve been doing this sooner, I’m sorry.”

And there’s more warmth, this time in the form of soft, wet lips as Kenma kisses him. He kisses him like he does the majority of things once he sets his mind to it— determinedly and filled with curiosity to see where it will take him now— what new level has been unlocked.

Kuroo’s entire chest flares with peace and relief and shock and happiness because this has _always_ been about volleyball, this has _always_ been about Kenma, this has _always_ been about two shy, quiet boys facing the world by standing on a court together.

_Us. Us. Us._

It’s the mantra that clouds Kuroo’s heart like a blanket, suffocating yet comforting as he pretty much engulfs Kenma in his attempt to kiss back, to bask in this, because Kenma is right, they could’ve been doing this sooner. Much sooner.

He grins against their touching lips, “You’re such a sap, who knew.”

Kenma doesn’t back away, “I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m not.”

“You are— oomph.”

Kenma silences Kuroo. Effectively. Kuroo doesn’t mind.

 

When Yaku finds them later, he simply shakes his wet head and calls Kuroo a bad influence for allowing Kenma to be gross too. But there’s a gentle smile playing on his face, and a relieved tone to his words. Lev stands behind him, confused by the lack of snap in Yaku’s demeanor.

Kuroo grins unapologetically, content with the feel of Kenma’s small hand in his, at ease with the weight of Kenma’s head on his (gross) shoulder.

They’re not late. They’ve finally started.

They’re pressing 'continue' together.

**Author's Note:**

> look, that match was everything I wanted without even knowing that I wanted it. It hurt. It was good. It was devastating. Phew, fam, what a time to be a volleyball fan.
> 
> Come find me @ shoutingabout if you wanna cry about volleyball and good boys.


End file.
